Given up, not giving in
by cyberiagirl
Summary: Teresa made a decision as a teenager that she never regretted. But will she feel the same when she has to decide again? Set after season 6.
1. Chapter 1

It was only just after dawn when the red front door swung open enthusiastically and Patrick Jane fairly sprung out. He spun on the balls of his feet to face the door again, suddenly careful to close it as quietly and gently as possible, the movement a surprising contrast in control. He smiled cheerfully to himself as he strode down the path in comfortable slacks, and glanced down to finish buttoning his shirts. He slept better these days than he had in years, but his insomnia was personality-based rather than rooted in trauma, and he still spent many late and early hours while Teresa slept pondering cases or reading to keep his vast knowledge bank current. But now the sun was up on a beautiful day, and this beautiful day just happened to be his beautiful person's birthday, the first one he'd get to _really_ spend with her, and she was going to wake up to her favourite coffee from her favourite café brought to her bedside by her almost-completely-without-doubt-except-in-some-of-those-black-wee-hours favourite person. And he was going to enjoy her enjoyment, even if it was a work day.

When he got to the footpath he noted the old but well-maintained white sedan parked there, with the driver's seat lowered down. He glanced inside, spying a young just-woman with long dark wavy hair curled up asleep. Well, this was Texas, it hadn't been a cold night, and he'd slept through many a boring stakeout in a similar fashion.

He turned to walk briskly in the direction of the café, then slowed somewhat, replaying his mind's footage from last night. Yes, the car had been there when they'd arrived home that evening, though he hadn't looked close enough to know if the woman had been there then too. Hmm.

Forty minutes later, a take-away coffee in each hand, he wrapped on the sedan's driver-side window. The woman started awake instantly, twisting her head towards him. Her face flickered quickly through a series of expressions—shock, guilt, disappointment, panic—before settling into a stony stare.

He grinned at her, and mimed winding down the window as best he could without upsetting his precious cargo. She sat up, then paused, and Patrick watched her body twitch with a frustrated huff as she began to do as he'd asked.

Once the window was down, he carefully placed the two paper cups on the car's roof before bending at the waist and casually resting his arms on the window's lower frame. "So," he began pleasantly. "Who are you waiting for?"

"No-one," she muttered, pale eyes glaring up at him, eyebrows obscured by a brown, shaggy fringe.

"Look, if you're going to lie, you should try to say something mildly credible. 'No-one', 'no-one', who's going to believe that?" The car smelt musty inside, and there was a little sea of empty fast-food containers and chocolate wrappers on the floor, a large plastic bottle of water half-full on the passenger seat. Nursing textbooks on the backseat. "How was the drive?"

"Uh…" She glanced over her shoulder at Teresa's house for a moment. "What drive? I'm just, you know… waiting for my boyfriend to come home." She straightened her shoulders. "He… worked the night shift. I got locked out."

"Oh, you are waiting for someone?" Patrick feigned surprise. "How do you find being in a long distance relationship?" He cut her denial off with a wave of his hand. "Illinois plates, Chicago accent, come on."

She reached behind her to lever her seat upright again, and then sat back with her arms folded, huffing a little again.

The knot in his stomach tightened further. He'd gotten a familiar feeling when she'd first scowled at him, but he was starting to pinpoint who else she resembled with that strong jaw. "Anyway, here." He rescued the two coffees from their perch, and held one out to her. She hesitated, then grudgingly took one. He watched her hold the cup with both hands wrapped around it, embarrassed and angry at herself about it. And about a hundred other things too, he imagined. He sighed a little, and walked around the front of the sedan towards the house.

"Wait!" Patrick turned, and she was scrambling to open her car door, standing beside it, a little wobbly on her legs after being seated for so long. She nodded towards the car. "You live there." He didn't bother to respond, knowing she'd seen him arrive with Teresa yesterday. "Can I, uh, use the bathroom?" she asked with a slight plead in her voice.

She was equal parts eager and scared, and he felt sorry for her. But she wasn't his responsibility, someone else was, and that person would in no way appreciate him making this decision for her. "No," he said quietly. "The woman who lives here, she doesn't like surprises."

"She… she doesn't?" So crestfallen, so unsure.

He was incredibly tempted to get involved, to encourage, to dissuade, to do something to get control of the situation, but he was trying hard to squash that tendency in his personal life these days. So he just shrugged and went into the house, trying to get the forlorn image of the girl clutching coffee by her car out of his mind, trying to get enough cheer back to wish Teresa a happy birthday without her wondering why he wasn't actually happy.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick glanced at the clock—two minutes til Teresa's alarm!—and scurried into the bedroom. He turned the alarm off and knelt on the floor besides her. Teresa was lying on her stomach, facing him, still asleep. Patrick gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, and held the coffee under her nose. She started to stir, sniffing a little at her favourite morning smell. He waited patiently, and eventually she blinked her eyes open. She smiled at him, then smiled wider at the coffee, pushing herself up on her elbows.

"Well hey there," she grinned, and took the cup from his hand. "I missed you," she said to the drink, and took a sip.

Patrick tsk-tsked her. "It's bad enough that I have to drop my standards and bring you the wrong kind of hot caffeinated beverage, but now I'm just a messenger boy to be ignored?"

"Hey, it's my birthday, I don't have to thank you for doing what a good boyfriend is contractually obligated to do." She took another sip, eyes meeting his over the rim of the cup. "It's just what I always wanted, thank you."

He magnanimously waved her words away. "Yes, well, if you insist on drinking that black death…"

"I do." She sat up, glancing at the clock. "Regular wake up time… so no big plans?" She mock glared at him, pointing a warning finger at him. "No surprises I won't like? No ponies crapping in my kitchen?"

"No!" he said, a little too quickly. She blinked, and he hurriedly added "I mean, I took your instructions very seriously. Only boring, calm, pleasant-for-Lisbon-er-Teresa plans." He relaxed enough to tease her. "I sat and I thought, what wonderful things would Patrick Jane do on his birthday? And then I planned the opposite." He gestured at her coffee, then tugged the blankets off her legs. "Now drink that, go take a shower, put on the birthday present that's hanging up in the bathroom, and then come eat the boringly sensible oatmeal that I'm going to make for you because you are so old now that you value nutrition in the mornings. And then give me a kiss to reward me for taking you to that dinky Chinese place for dinner tonight rather than Tahiti."

"Aww, you're trying so hard! Just as incentive to stay on the narrow path…" Teresa lent forward and kissed him happily.

He returned the kiss for half a minute, a breather from his thoughts, then sat back with a wink. "Don't worry, I planned some fun for the two of us tonight, I'm still selfish at heart."

"Perish the thought, how would I recognise you?" She slid out of bed and took her coffee into the attached bathroom.

Patrick went to the front of the house, peering out the window. The white car was gone. So he didn't have to worry about a confrontation—either between Teresa and the girl, or Teresa and himself—for now. Or maybe ever… perhaps he'd scared the watcher off. That was not a relieving thought, however. Scaring her off was the equivalent of making the decision, and it had to be one of them to do that, not him. He had to be a bystander.

Oh, he hated being a bystander!

He went into the kitchen, putting a saucepan on the heat and looking for his ingredients.

Rationally speaking, he was already involved. That couldn't be undone. And if he didn't mention the woman in the car, then to Teresa that was withholding information, and boy did she disapprove of that.

Well, there you go, he decided, stirring the oats as they bubbled. He would have to say something. But not right now. Not when she had a whole day as the bright birthday girl before her. He'd do a little more research, a little more thinking. The butterfly had already flapped its wings, but he was more than capable of controlling where and when the tornado hit, wasn't he?


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: Okay, so lesson learnt for next time: if you start off saying 'Patrick' and 'Teresa' in the narration, you'll be stuck with Dennis, Kim and Kimball later on (Wylie's first name is Jason, who knew?). Sorry about the awkwardness.**

Step one in tornado control: discover tornado's name. Patrick sat on his couch, flicking through a folder of profiles related to their current case. It was a boring one, so it was easy enough to devote half his attention to making a shortlist of teachers most likely to kill the national spelling bee proctor, a quarter to waiting for everyone else to vanish to lunch or a briefing (he wasn't picky), and the remaining quarter to keeping a ponderous expression off his face lest Teresa look a little more closely than she had over breakfast. Though the perfect figure she'd cut in the new suit he'd bought for her had certainly made putting his thoughts aside easier…

Finally Dennis called Kim and Teresa into his office while Kimball ran down a lead and Jason went for lunch. Patrick had already carefully calculated whose computer he was going to use: Jason probably kept track of his search history, and Teresa and Kimball would know in an instant something was up if he was caught at their desks. He figured Kim would be the least likely to consider how out of character it was for him to touch a keyboard.

He sat down at her desk, pleased to discover that her account had not yet auto-locked and he wouldn't have to waste five minutes on guessing her password. Now, he'd watched this get done over shoulders a hundred times… First you clicked here… and then you checked some boxes to select the right databases…narrow it down to an area… and type in the car's license plate number. Easy.

"Hannah," he muttered under his breath, trying the name out. "Hannah Meath." What a conveniently rare surname; he could easily track her down on Facebook and the like using his phone later. He checked her criminal record—nothing beyond some speeding tickets, boring but normal—and jotted down her Chicago address. The neighbourhood was nice enough that she must've still been living with her parents. Not estranged then. So why drive to Austin now? It was closer than California, sure, but there had to be a reason behind the timing.

He hesitated, then took down her date of birth as well. Writing that down made it all feel so serious. But yes, his guess had been correct, Teresa would have turned 18 just a month or so before Hannah was born.

Teresa slipped back behind the hallway corner, putting her arm out to stop Kim from passing. "Crap."

Kim pressed into Teresa's arm before she could halt herself. "What?"

"Jane's using a computer."

"So?"

"Never a good sign."

Kim smiled. "Maybe he cracked the case!"

Teresa lifted an eyebrow. "Sure, maybe. But he needs _your_ computer…?"

"My computer… hey!" Kim went to push past Teresa, but she grabbed her again.

"Don't, don't, if you tell him not to it'll just encourage him to do it again. Better that he doesn't know that we know he's about to pull a stunt."

Kim looked mildly annoyed, but shrugged. "Fine. So, you ever win a spelling bee?"

"Appoggiatura. A. Appoggiatura. It's a musical term."

Teresa threw down the list of spelling bee words in disgust. "God, you're so annoying."

Patrick grinned, and took a bite of egg roll. "Come on, give it here, I'll find you an easy one."

"I don't want an easy one!" She scowled across the table at him, then started laughing at herself. "I'm acting a bit like it's my fourth birthday, aren't I?"

"Oh, well, it's my fault, it must be hard dating such a renaissance man."

"Torturous," she agreed, seizing the last appetiser as a comfort.

Patrick saw the opportunity he had been waiting for to guide the conversation to the past. "So no previous lovers ever made you cranky on your birthday? Come on, I must be doing better than someone."

She munched thoughtfully. "Hmm, dunno. I haven't had many long-term relationships, so I normally celebrate with friends or colleagues."

"Yes, Pike didn't last long enough to get a birthday, did he?" Patrick couldn't help diverting from his plan slightly in order to get a triumphant smirk in.

Teresa gave him a warning look. "Be nice. He was."

"Oh, he wasn't, from what you've said he was almost as manipulative as me, but you didn't _know_ he was manipulative, so it was all the more dangerous."

"It sounds like you're admitting he was better at manipulating me than you are. That can't be right, the great Patrick Jane not being the best at something."

"Don't be silly, I've gotten you to do all kinds of things. Even if we adjusted the statistic for time and opportunity I'd be ahead."

"Really? You want me to be thinking about all the nasty things you've ever done to me?"

"No," admitted Patrick, realising the conversation was getting too far away from his goal. "Come on, what about Greg? He must have made some drunken teenage faux pas at your seventeenth."

Teresa gazed at the contents of her wine glass. "What makes you think I had many birthday parties?"

"Too busy being a mother, huh?" He watched her for a reaction, but didn't get anything notable. She just smiled a little, shrugging.

"Well, you know I was responsible for my brothers. But it wasn't just that. Parties are expensive, and I'd rather order a pizza then clean up after a kegger."

"Teresa Lisbon, the world's most practical teenager." He leaned back as the waiter delivered plates of fried rice and kung pao chicken to their table. Teresa used her chopsticks to put a piece of meat in her mouth, and he waited for her to finish chewing before carrying on. "How did such a sensible girl like you get engaged so young?"

She looked a little put-out. "I'll have you know that Greg was very romantic. I was just like any other seventeen-year-old who thinks the first person who says they love them is the one."

He spooned rice onto his plate. "Until…?"

She wasn't eating any more, clued in all of a horrible sudden that he was trying to prise something in particular out of her, though damned if she knew what. "Nothing really. I realised I wasn't ready. I wanted to get out of Chicago, he didn't, I wanted my life to be different to our parents' lives, he didn't… It just stopped looking like a good idea."

Patrick tried to stay casual, but her refusal to confess what he already knew was starting to irk him. "That's it? No big event that changed your mind?"

She slammed her chopsticks down beside her plate, and Patrick jumped at the sudden sound. "Why don't you just ask me whatever it is you want to ask me? You're clearly fishing for something."

He met her glare. "Fine. Did you break it off because you fell pregnant, and he wanted to abort the baby?" She flinched, and he instantly regretted losing his patience. He wanted to rewind and unruin her birthday, to have had this conversation next week in an open, honest, 'decent human being' manner.

Teresa took a few deep breaths, refusing to look at him. The waiter passed nearby, and she waved him over. "We'll take this to go." She stood up, grabbing her bag, and addressed Patrick without glancing his way. "I'll meet you in the car," she said flatly, and walked out of the restaurant.

The confused server gathered up the plates. Once he'd left, Patrick drained his wine glass, then drained Teresa's. He was clearly learning—he hadn't gotten a face full of liquid this time—but obviously not very quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

The fact that Teresa really was sitting in the driver's seat of her car waiting for him, instead of driving off and leaving him to fend for himself, just made Patrick feel even more guilty. You wouldn't have expected it from their temperaments, but she was so much better at changing than he was, able to focus on a personal flaw and actively work at improving herself. Instead of yelling and running away from the one who was causing her pain like she had done such a short time ago, she was facing him head on. Why couldn't he have stuck to his resolution to be more transparent? If he had, she wouldn't have been wounded and wary, watching him through the windscreen while he mentally squared his shoulders to face up to the necessary reparations.

He opened the passenger door and slipped in besides her, shutting it as gently as he could. They both looked straight ahead into the brightly-lit restaurant where they had been only minutes before.

She got brave and broke the silence first. "You usually get ninety percent of the story right, you figure out what happened and hang our suspects out to dry with it, but sometimes you're so spectacularly far off on the final ten. And then we get held at gunpoint or someone tries to chop your fingers off with an axe."

"I didn't mean to turn the conversation into a hold-up." He paused, and sighed. "When I plan these things, they look very reasonable, the most efficient way to get to the truth. I'm not trying to rob you of the things you don't want to tell me… I just… like to know them…" He trailed off, and tried a sheepish-but-charming grin.

No mitigating effect. "Why do you have to plan and scheme? Why don't you just _ask_ me?"

"But you'd managed to hide this from me! The whole time I've known you! You so clearly didn't want to deal with it."

She gave him an incredulous look, a 'don't I have that right?' look. "Deal with what? There's nothing to deal with!"

"But there is," he said quietly. "There was a young woman parked outside the house this morning. And yes, maybe I'm in ten percent territory, but I think she's your daughter."

Teresa stopped breathing, stopped everything, a rushing sound in her ears. She stared at him, unable to think. Patrick hesitated, then took her hand and squeezed it gently. When she finally let go of her held breath, she started gasping too quickly, ricocheting from not enough air to too much. He quickly shifted closer, using his spare hand to cup her cheek and make her look into his eyes.

"It's fine, everything's fine," he whispered. "Look at me. Everything's fine. You'll feel fine in a moment. No reason to panic. Everything's fine."

She used his voice to snatch back a thread of self-control, reeling it in slowly, feeling her chest rise and fall slower and slower until it was normal enough that she didn't have to fight anymore. "But if she's here… then it's not fine. If it was fine, why would she come and find me? If she's happy, with good parents, then why…?"

He chose his response carefully. "Do you want to find out?"

She lurched back, away from his touch. "No!" she gasped, horrified. When he frowned, she closed her eyes briefly and took a steadying breath, refusing to panic again. "Patrick, no. I don't. I really don't. I know that must be surprising, but I don't. At all."

"Okay," he nodded, trying to sound soothing without being patronising. "Okay."

They sat there in silence for several minutes, Teresa stone-faced and unseeing, Patrick trying to sit still while his eyes darted everywhere until he couldn't take it anymore. "You don't have to tell me, Teresa, but… why?"

The corner of her mouth twitched a little. "It drives you nuts, not knowing something about me, doesn't it?"

"Not at all. I never get obsessed about anything, or feel a need to have an encyclopaedic knowledge on a subject. Clarinet? Saxophone? Harmonica?" She laughed, and he smiled to hear it.

She watched him, thinking, then reached across to pat his knee. "Let's go home." She put her seatbelt on, then paused before turning the key in the ignition. "Then I'll tell you what happened," she said slowly, making the promise despite her desire to close the subject permanently.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more upfront. And for being too upfront after that." He kissed her forehead. "Do you want to hear about this morning?"

She sighed. "I haven't decided yet."

He pulled her into a hug, trying to be as comforting as possible over the gearstick. She clutched him back, trying to soak up his reassurance. After a minute or two she let go, and he sat back. "Buckle up," she said, and they drove home.


	5. Chapter 5

Patrick put the leftover Chinese in the fridge, poured two glasses of wine, and joined Teresa on the couch in the lounge room. She took the offered glass, and smiled a little when he sat right up next to her, coaxing with a nudge her to lean against his shoulder. She heaved a sigh, got ready to speak… and found she had no idea how or where to start. She uselessly mouthed a few vowels before taking a large gulp of wine. Suddenly deciding that she needed some protective physical space before she could begin to dismantle a long-standing mental wall, she leapt to her feet and began pacing slowly in front of the main window. Patrick felt a prick of disappointment, but stayed where he was.

She took another deep breath, and forced out some words. "We were both 17."

"Uh-huh," he encouraged.

"Three months from graduation."

"Very stressful."

"We spent most of our time at my house. I was still trying to keep an eye on the boys, though they resented it by then, so I wasn't one for parties or malls or make-out spots. Greg didn't mind, no parental supervision to, uh, impede things. Plus my father didn't… bother us so much if Greg was there." She paused a little, distracted at that train of thought, but then blinked and forced herself back on track. "So yeah, teenagers are not always the world's best forward planners. _Most_ of the time we used protection."

Patrick smiled somewhat. Six months ago he would have sworn to anyone that Teresa was a hopeless control freak, but he'd recently become pleasantly acquainted with her more passionate side. Now was not an optimal time for a quip, however. "How did you feel when you found out?"

Her eyebrows twitched into an involuntary frown as she replayed the moment. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, pregnancy test buried deep in the waste basket, staring at the back of the door, mind completely numb but somehow still registering the off-key sound of James singing along to the radio coming through the wall… "Like I was about to fall off a tight-rope."

"A tight-rope?"

She glanced over at him. "There had already been so much… change… Things hadn't been comfortable or easy for a long time, but I'd made it manageable. I was coping. I was scared of not being able to balance anymore. Of dropping someone."

He felt a twist in his stomach at her being so young and lonely and responsible for everyone. "Teresa…"

She hurriedly turned away. "Don't sound so pitying, or I'm not going to be able to finish."

He took his cue and briskly moved her along. "How long after you told Greg did he propose?"

"He didn't… Well, he did, but I didn't…"

Patrick tried not to sound as surprised as he was. "You didn't tell him?"

"No." Teresa tried to look through the window at the street outside, but it was dark and she just kept meeting her reflection's eyes. "I kept meaning to. I'd turn the conversation to his parents, how they met, were they happy, how did a real family operate. I wanted to know how it was done. But I just never heard whatever it was I was needed to be able to get the words out. I interrogated him so much, he must have thought I was dropping hints. He proposed two months later with a plastic ring he'd gotten out of one of those toy vending machines. He promised he'd replace it with a real one once he had a job."

"Why did you say yes?"

She suddenly threw her hands in the air with an exasperated gesture, turning back to him. "I don't know! I panic when people propose to me! I can never just say no!"

He couldn't stop himself from chuckling. "Teresa, once you care about someone, you'll do almost anything to avoid hurting their feelings. It's an adorable fault."

She smiled a little. "Except you."

"I'm happy to be the exception. You're beautiful unvarnished."

Their eyes met across the room and things paused, before Teresa strode back to the couch and knelt, pulling him into a swift, hard kiss. The moment lengthened into a long minute before she released him. "You love me just the way I am," she said softly.

"I love you _because_ you're the way you are," he corrected, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Don't act like it's in spite of anything."

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. "I love you too." She opened her eyes again, smiling. "In spite of many things."

"Oof, Teresa, ow!" He feigned mortal injury, then shifted her from his lap to his side, passing her back her glass. "Now come on, this is a tangent. You're pregnant, not even your high school fiancé knows, but you're too Catholic for an abortion."

She wrinkled her nose at his presumptive-but-entirely-correct observation about why she hadn't terminated the pregnancy, and took a sip of wine before continuing, but she was clearly less agitated than before. "This is the weirdest part."

"Oh, _this_ is where it gets weird?"

She whacked his arm in retaliation. "He told his family immediately, and they were happy for us. Though his mother gave me some long side-glances. The bump was only tiny then, and Greg was too sweet to ever tease me about getting fat, but I think she noticed my fashion change to looser pants. But it took me three weeks to tell my brothers. They were angry. Not at Greg, but at me, for being about to leave them. That surprised me."

"It's not that strange. I never want you to leave me."

"No, here's what's strange. I went to find my father. He was lying on the couch, a bit hungover. I woke him up and told him I was engaged. And he just looked at me for a long time. Stared at me in silence for minutes. Then he asked me why. Just one word, why. No-one else had asked me. Everyone either said "oh, congratulations, Greg and you are so perfect for each other, high school sweethearts, how romantic, you can stay in Chicago and have a big family just like yours" or "how could you leave us for stupid Greg?". But he asked me why." Teresa sagged into Patrick's arm a little more. "I burst into tears. I cried so hard it was ridiculous, and I told him I was pregnant."

"The only person you told was your father," Patrick said to subtly confirm that it hadn't been her tears that so surprised her.

"Which is _weird_. He'd been… hurtful… for years. What help would he be? I didn't trust him… but I wanted him to be my dad. I wanted him to fix everything."

Patrick studied her as she gazed into the distance. "And did he?" he asked quietly.

"He did. He actually did." Her voice was filled with amazement. "He said it was up to me, but he could organise for me to stay with his cousin in San Francisco over the summer. I'd have the baby, give it up for adoption and go to college, either there or back in Chicago." She sipped again. "The next day at school I told Greg I'd changed my mind, then refused to talk to him when he tried to find out why. When he came to the house, I'd stay in my room and one of my brothers would tell him to get lost. My father somehow drank even more than before. We didn't tell my brothers any of it. I graduated and moved to California three weeks later."

Patrick put down his glass, barely touched. "That's an abrupt change."

"Yes… But I realised it was a decision between teetering on the tightrope for the rest of my life, or jumping off." She shrugged.

He frowned at something that didn't make sense. "So you gave birth in San Francisco?"

Her face clouded a little. "Yes. Don't make me go into specifics please. It wasn't fun."

"Okay, but Hannah is from Chicago." Patrick pondered the probability that a family would adopt in one state before moving to the birth mother's old one. Well, anything was possible… Then he realised that Teresa was frozen, eyes wide, and he cursed himself for letting the detail slip. He was too relaxed around her sometimes.

"Teresa-"

"Hannah?" She stared up at him, tone almost wondrous. "Her name is Hannah?"

He looked back at her, then gave her a crooked smile. "Cake. The rest of this conversation requires birthday cake."


End file.
